Archive for night

The traffic signals are glass and plastic jewels
Smeared across the windshield
Cheap and gaudy ornamentation suspended
In pools of bruise purple black nighttime sky
While constellations of headlights form and dissolve
Stars afloat, hovering above the slick pavement.

Bodies come and go, vague shapes
Defined by rustlings in the black,
Faces floating ghosts, masks smiling, grim, in between
Conversations drifting currents around rocky shores
Incomprehensible yet demanding, insistent
Inviting, but the address is lost, the directions
Seem to be in a foreign language.

He’s not really here or there, out of phase
The dial tuned just out of sync
A whole world of in betweens
Caught in the middle of point A to B
Möbius twisting, the cat forever in that box
Tires spinning out forever, still in motion
As a billion moving pictures flicker past.

The stories gather like storm clouds on a lazy tongue
Thick, pouring out in streamers of blue smoke haze
Littering the floorboards, curling up at the edges
Leaves and old photographs
Pinned wriggling between dime-store paperback
Yellowing pages, leaved through, well thumbed
Favorite passages recited prayer beads.

They aren’t his stories, those dried up long ago
Back when his tongue rusted to the roof of his mouth
He just gathers, stitching them together
Her shy smile to his lonely fumbling
Their boisterous revelry to his towering silence
Fingers calloused from needling onion skins
Piles of manuscript, instruction manuals for disused objects.

No rhyme, no reason, dispatches
For disinterested commanders,
From no mans but his land, a pilgrims travel guide
The points of interest among drifting bodies
Sliding past upon the sidewalk banks
The living, the dead, the dreamers
All with stories waiting to be gathered.

Here there be magic, here there be marvelsDark and wondrous strangeHarvests of dreamsRiding smokey currentsReaped as the earth is reachingFor her downy white coverletCatlike yawning steam coiling.

More than spring’s spritely urgencyDeeper than summer’s languorMarking the border betweenWaking and winter’s long slumberLays October’s countryThe shivery bittersweet tasteOf mortality, where the lines blur.

It’s the kind of hot that clings
Sticky, like warm honey
Sleep is impossible
Damp sheets a scratchy second skin
So we lay awake
Watching the fat, butter yellow moon climb
The blank bruise purple city night sky.

Your shoulders are against the wall
You say it’s cooler, skin against the plaster
The back of my head rests on
Your belly, glowing soft and gold,
Fingertips making lazy whorls on my brow
When you shift beneath me slightly
I can feel the hair between your thighs
Brush the back of my neck.

My lips are dry, throat parched
You’ve had me talking to you all night
Telling you stories, pulling poems from between
The shafts of moonlight
I’m down to a hoarse whisper but if I pause
You lean forward, lips pressing against my skin
How can I resist, you pull the words from me
Like drawing water from a well.

You hold me between your legs
The night holds us like a third lover
And I hold you up like a candle
My tongue a spinning wheel
Weaving the treads of you into tapestries
Adorning the cathedral walls of our small room
Luminous, glowing over sweat and skin
And I can’t help thinking that it’s only you
That can make me beautiful.

Old friend
For so I still call you
Though it has been years
Since we danced
Knee deep in shallows
Step for step waltzing
This graceless student
Yearning for your secret
How to be one
With the shore, the waters, and the night sky.

emisformake
The blog of my sissy-poo and the person responsible for me creating my own blog…so you can all blame her and while you’re at it check out her fantastically insane levels of creativity and talent